TRIGGER WARNING: implied violence/abuse, Stockholm syndrome
"Never did I ever think that he would be my biggest secret," I tell the grieving October moon about you. I still long to see you every day, and the more I wait, the hungrier I become. I claw at my sides desperately, but, of course, it could never match the way you held me so tightly against you in that perfect little place we called home. I understand that life drags us in unexpected directions, but I honestly think that you simply didn't get enough time to understand who I really am. Even if you insisted on keeping me all to yourself, at least I knew where I belonged. With whom I belonged. It was such a bittersweet feeling, knowing that you were always around. Now, I guess, I'll just have to wait until the next time you need me.
It has been a long time since you and I have been apart—longer than I ever imagined you could bear being away from me. I find it hard to believe that the lonesome life is the life you want for me, especially after everything you told me. I've tried to be optimistic, to think that maybe you were right to leave me stranded in this city. I must deserve it, after all, since you've somehow always known what's best for me. I can just tell how I made you feel after I got antsy, as if this wasn't evidence enough. Nevertheless, you don't have to worry about me being in danger now—at least, I don't think so. You'd think that by now, I'd be able to recognize a danger in this darkness just as easily as I recognize your face while I dream. But I'm sure that I can protect myself out here if I really have to. I do it in my daydreams all the time.
From the way it seems, nobody else knows the ways in which I truly need you, and frankly, there's no reason they need to. I walk along the railroad and remember fondly just how much you loved playing with your food each glorious Halloween. With every new mark on my body you discovered, there was always another that you created. I was your masterpiece, you had said, and I was born to be with you forever. You would look into my eyes so fiercely, and I drank up every moment I spent at the center of your attention. I knew that in you, I had someone who desired me, and I never wanted your love to end.
I know that you only left me here because I had become too dangerous. You once told me I was capable of horrible things, that my precious hands were practically made for war. However, I have to say that it's not my fault that I've become so obsessive, and it's certainly not my fault that people keep trying to get in our way. You know that no matter what it takes, I would do anything to return to you, to make sure that I remain yours. Why would you fault me for just wanting to be with you? It's almost as if you can't stand to be seen with me.
Sometimes I see you smiling in these stars, but it's not really the innocent type of smile. It's the devilish, teeth-grinning look that anyone else in their right mind would cower from any day. But you understand me better than anyone has after so much time stroking my crusted, blood-caked hair. From your dark stare, I somehow get the sense that you trust me, and you definitely know that I would never do anything that you wouldn't want. (Or, at least, I wouldn't think of it.) But you know I've never been one to think—at least not more than I feel. The truth of the matter is: never once have you shown me anything but kindness since my arrival at your front door. You did so with a hardened heart, of course, and a tender, wounded cheek to which I tended to every time you returned home. You must have liked it, though, if you bothered to keep me around for so long. You must still trust me, even after condemning me here. In fact, you should be grateful I even cared for you then, still care for you now. Truth be told, these city lights and railroad ghosts aren't as good companions as you know I am. There's no way you'll find anyone who would go as far as I went for you.
If you had only said goodbye to me, maybe I'd know what to do now. You'll be back soon, right? And the next time you do come around, do you promise you'll at least spare me a glance? I'm not upset by any means, but those eyes of yours—those perfect eyes of yours—are the only things keeping me from losing my head in this wretched place. I promise, whatever it takes for me to finally find you again will happen, without a doubt. All I know is that no one could ever love me the way that you obviously loved me. You did say it, after all, and why would you lie?
...You do still need me.
"Maybe this is what happens when you're too in love," I tell the rising November sun about you, "but now I have no way of knowing." I take a deep breath as I continue to walk along, looking for the next answer—for the next chance to be back in your loving arms. I know it seems strange, but I think that we deserve it—that I deserve it. Maybe I'd even prefer it if you have to keep me a secret, too—please, do with me as you will. I promise I can be better for you, and there's no reason why I'd ever have to tell anyone. Know that I will never stop being loyal to you, no matter how many Halloweens you abandon me and force me to wander off into unknown lands. Please, just say you'll come back for me.